Death & Obsessions
by JellyBean30
Summary: What if Cameron wasn't sweet at all? Rated M for character death, mature themes.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is very different from the stuff I've written before, but this story just sort of came to me, well actually the ending sort of came to me, and I had to write it down because I couldn't continue my other stories until I got this one done. It's written completely within Cameron's mind, and it's a little dark & twisted. There will be character deaths at the end, so if you don't like that sort of stuff, this isn't a story you'll enjoy.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of them, and if I did I would never, ever let this happen.

Chapter 1

She stood alone on the roof of the hospital, and breathed in the crisp, autumn air. Autumn was her favorite season; it always had been. When asked, she would tell people she loved the change in the seasons, loved watching the foliage display it's beautiful colors. It was a load of crap, but it was the sort of thing people expected to hear from her. In truth, she felt most at home in the fall, because it always seemed like the world was dying around her.

Death was an obsession of hers. Nobody knew that, of course. Well, nobody who mattered to her now. She smiled, thoughtfully, as she remembered the high school guidance counselor who had discovered her secret obsession. She remembered his concern, the call to her parents, and the endless discussions that followed. She remembered the hours of therapy she'd been forced to attend, and the time it had taken her to convince the therapist she wasn't suicidal. She just wanted to understand death.

Death was the reason she'd married her husband. She'd loved him, of course, but that wasn't the only reason. She knew he was dying, and it called to her. She had to be there, had to see it first hand. It was nothing like she'd expected. She'd expected the mystery to become clear. It hadn't. What she hadn't expected was the pain, the anguish, of losing her husband. Death did not just affect its victim.

Death was the reason she'd become a doctor. What better way to understand death was there than to choose a career where she could surround herself with it? It was also the reason she chose to apply for the fellowship with House. He cheated death, at every turn. Here was a man who knew the secret, she had thought.

After all her years of medical training, an internship at the Mayo Clinic and two years of working in the best diagnostic department in the country, she was no closer to understanding death. She had begun to think, just recently, that she might never understand death. She'd helped prevent it, or at least slow its course, many times since becoming a doctor. And now, having helped a man die, she still was no closer. Maybe she would never, could never, understand. Maybe not even after she'd died herself.

And now she was dealing with a new obsession. It hadn't begun that way. It had been a crush, in the beginning. Back when she still believed he held the answer. It had developed into an infatuation. And now, that her feelings for him had changed, it was an obsession. One she was slowly losing control over. Not even death itself had held such sway with her. He was a mystery, and she was going to figure him out.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

He was a man with obsessions of his own, after all. He was obsessed with puzzles, with knowing things. He thought knowledge gave you power. That was why he spent so many hours reading, secretly. That was why he spoke so many languages, why he knew so many inane bits of trivia. It was why he poked and prodded into their personal lives. He wanted to know things. No, he needed to know things. That part of him had been easy to figure out.

The rest of him, that was the real mystery. Why did he always want to be alone, and miserable? Why did he want others around him to be miserable? At first, she had thought he was lonely. That he didn't know how to be happy, and that by making others around him miserable he was just looking for company. But that wasn't it. Even when he was truly making them miserable, he wasn't satisfied. She couldn't figure that out. Even all his puzzles, all his knowledge didn't make him happy. He needed it, but it didn't really please him.

His carpet was a perfect example. She couldn't understand why he wanted the bloody carpet back so badly. It was clear to her that it wasn't just about making Cuddy upset, although she was sure he got at least some perverse pleasure out of that. He really needed that carpet back. But why? What was so special about the carpet? It was the blood, obviously, but why was the blood so important? Did it make him feel better, or worse?

She stood outside the conference room in the morning, preparing herself to ignore him. It wasn't easy; in fact, it was becoming harder every day. She hadn't realized while she was doing it, but she had totally abandoned the differential on their last patient to analyze his carpet motives. It had been a long time since she'd let one of her obsessions get the better of her like that. She'd have to try extra hard to put on her sweet, angelic face.

She couldn't afford to make herself that obvious. She wouldn't allow herself the luxury. Besides, if she got fired she would never figure him out, and that was just unacceptable.

She watched the coffee brewing while she counted the minutes until he arrived. She noticed immediately that he'd had the shelves placed at a different angle, no doubt to get a better view of the bloodstain. Why? Why was it so important to him? She let her mind drift back to the day he was shot, and carefully replayed every conversation she'd had with him since then. What clues had he given her about himself?

She first remembered the day he had returned, the day he had asked her out for drinks or dinner. She had turned him down. He had seemed pleased by that, and she knew she had gotten it right. He was testing her, trying to see if she really did want to fix him. She said no, and he was pleased because he thought he had figured her out. He was wrong. She said no because she thought it was the reaction he was looking for. And she had been right. She had replayed that conversation over and over in her head for days, congratulating herself on her victory in figuring out even that small piece of him.

She remembered their next patient, the little boy who was a chimera. She remembered the shock she had felt when he had told them to send the little boy home. She had never seen him give up on a patient before. Even Esther, from twelve years ago, he had continued to try to solve that case. She had gone to Cuddy and demanded he be told the truth about the cortisol treatment, and she had been right that time too. He'd figured it out, and she was thrilled. She'd known how important the puzzle was, but she had just learned it was really the answer that mattered.

He came in behind her, and interrupted her thoughts. He looked at her, but said nothing. She went to her desk and took out her laptop, forcing herself to concentrate on work. But always, in the back of her mind, he lurked.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

She spent that day watching him. She spent every day watching him. Maybe it was the time of year, but her obsessions always seemed to intensify in the fall. Normally, she associated this especially dark state of mind with the world around her. In the fall, everything is dying. The plants, the trees, the grass, even the daylight died earlier. But her obsession with him was overpowering even that. She had to understand him, had to know him.

She listened to him speaking to Cuddy and Wilson. The hospital was holding a fund-raiser, a Halloween costume ball, and they wanted him to attend. He refused. Of course, he refused to attend functions with large numbers of people as a matter of course. They would talk him into it. Cuddy would threaten him with more clinic duty and he would agree. It would be a good opportunity for him to observe people. She wondered what sort of costume he would choose. Would he even wear a costume at all? Would he choose something funny and outrageous? Or something dark and mysterious? Either would fit him.

He shouted at Cuddy, and then at Wilson. She strained to hear their replies. Finally he screamed that he'd rather die than attend, and her mind raced. What if she could figure them both out at once? House and death? He could help her; he was brilliant. He must know things, of course. But what could be a better way to understand death than to have the most brilliant medical mind on earth describe it to you as it happened?

She wasn't really going to do this. She was just thinking. It wasn't a crime to think. There was nothing wrong with thinking. You could think anything you wanted. It was only a problem if you acted on it. Even the most wholly inappropriate thought you ever had was okay as long as you knew it could never happen.

She knew where he lived. She could get there easily without him even knowing. She knew Wilson had a spare key. She wasn't entirely sure how she'd get the key from him, but she could probably work that out. She'd have to sneak in while he was sleeping. He might be crippled, but he was far too strong for her to overpower him.

She could sedate him. It would be easy. A small vial of Haldol or Ativan would never even be missed in the hospital. In fact, she could report a broken vial and then just take one. With the all the Vicodin he was taking, it wouldn't take much to keep him still. She could tie him up. No, he was too smart for that. He might figure a way out. She'd need handcuffs. Where could she get handcuffs? Hmm, she could ask Chase.

What would she do to him? She could inject him, but with what? A poison? No, that would be too unpredictable. She'd need something really slow acting, and the hospital didn't have that sort of stuff just lying around. What about a virus or some bacteria? It would have to kill him quickly, but leave him awake and able to talk to her. The naegleria bacteria could work. In fact, naegleria would be perfect. She already knew the course it would take, thanks to Foreman. And untreated, he'd be dead in only a few days.

She'd have to do it over a weekend, so nobody would notice him missing until it was too late. No, better. She could infect him at work, on a Friday. He'd start to feel sick, and they'd send him home. She could stop by to check on him. She wouldn't even need Wilson's key.

This could be even easier than she thought. Too easy.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

She felt light-headed. She stopped the treadmill and looked down at the display. 17 miles. 17 miles? She closed her eyes and waited for the dizziness to pass. Better, she looked at the display once more. 17 miles. She'd run 7 extra miles without noticing. Running sometimes helped her clear her mind of thoughts she couldn't rid herself of. She'd starting running this afternoon to chase away thoughts of killing House. 17 miles, and still the first thought that popped into her head.

This is crazy, she thought to herself. She couldn't really do this. It was wrong. She could get caught. That thought stopped her cold. She would get caught. She was smart, and her plan was smart, but it would never work. Not in real life. Plans like that only worked in stories. She would leave some trace behind. She would leave evidence. Fingerprints, a hair, there would be something. They'd trace the drugs in his system and it would lead back to her. She'd get caught.

She had a holy horror of being caught doing anything wrong. It scared her. The very idea of getting caught doing this, it scared her enough to make her nauseous. It was a bad thing, and getting caught doing a bad thing meant being punished. She shivered a little. She may have been a little girl, but she had quickly learned that doing bad things meant being punished.

But she'd already gotten away with it once. She'd killed Ezra. She'd spent hours sitting in that locker room, telling herself she wasn't going to do it. In the end, her need to see death up close had been stronger than her desire not to be caught. She had done it, and it had earned her nothing. No understanding, no flash of insight.

She cried in the chapel, where she hoped she'd be alone. Or at least, left alone, taken by any visitor to be just another mourning family member. He had found her, and told her he was proud of her. She cried harder. He wouldn't be proud if he knew that she'd failed. She hadn't done it because it was what Ezra wanted; she did it because it was what she needed. She cried because she had learned nothing.

Until today. Today, she realized she had learned something. Death could be hidden. Nothing had ever come of Ezra's death. She knew Cuddy had questioned it, but nothing happened. No accusations had followed. It could be done. It had already been done.

The real question was, what was more powerful? The need to understand House, or the need to understand death?


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

What if he wouldn't cooperate? What if he refused to tell her anything, refused to answer her questions? She could hold him hostage, surely. But could she force him to reveal his inner workings to her? Could she really make him tell her who he was?

What if he lied? How would she even be able to tell? What was it he had said, telling people they're dying focuses them, helps you find out what they'd die for and what they'd lie for? She could only hope he was right. Or could she? Did she really have to hope?

Another two weeks had passed while she turned this idea over and over in her mind. She looked at it from every possible angle. She poked and prodded until there was nothing left but to abandon it, or do it. She just couldn't decide which.

The Halloween party was now just days away. Cuddy had threatened and he had folded. He was expected at the party, in costume, no less. She had seen Cuddy's face when he agreed; Cuddy thought she'd won. No. House let her win. He had to let her get the best of him sometimes, or she wouldn't let him get away with other things when he needed her to. It was really quite brilliant.

She spent hours agonizing over her Halloween costume. Should she wear something they would expect? An angel or a fairy? She briefly toyed with the idea of coming as a teddy bear, with a tag that said 'Made by Grandma' just to see his reaction. Should she wear something totally unexpected? Like, a homicidal maniac? Huh, that would be funny, considering. In the end, she opted for something a little more classic, and came as a witch. Not terribly original, but unlikely to attract attention. She didn't want attention, just wanted to fade in to the background.

She stood in a corner of the hospital lobby, close enough to see the door without making herself obvious. She'd been standing there for hours, waiting. He didn't come. When Monday rolled around, she found she wasn't the only upset by his absence. Cuddy was furious. Apparently, she didn't find him as funny as he found himself. He'd told her he was there, but he was dressed as the Invisible Man, so naturally she couldn't see him. Cuddy had given him six extra clinic hours every week for a month. He laughed at her.

She was angry. She'd been wrong again. She thought he gave in to Cuddy so he could use her for something else. He hadn't given at all. Only pretended, so he could get out the stupid party. That settled it, then.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

She'd checked the mail every day faithfully, holding her breath each time she opened the mailbox, and then letting out a disappointed little sigh when the box wasn't there. Finally, nearly three weeks later, it arrived. She glanced quickly across the lobby to make sure nobody was watching, snatched the package from her mailbox and ran up the stairs and into her apartment.

Of course, she was a doctor, and there could be a perfectly good reason for her to order these items. But, if she'd had a good reason, she could have just gotten them at PPTH. Instead, she had spent endless hours searching the Internet before finally finding a site where she could order both. She'd used a fake name, and paid with a money order. And now, there they were, in a little brown package on her kitchen table.

Now this was getting real. Before, it had just been a fantasy. Even when she was searching on-line until 3am, it was just to see if she could do it. But now that the package was here, the only real question was, would she?

She opened the box. She just wanted to make sure they'd sent her what she'd ordered. She peeled away the layers of Styrofoam packing materials to reveal two vials. She lifted them out of the packaging, placed them side-by-side on the table and pushed the wrappings to the floor.

The silver tops glinted slightly under her kitchen light. Two little vials filled with clear liquid. These two vials could change everything about her life. She could use them to finally figure out the two greatest mysteries. She picked up the first vial and let it roll in her hand. Naegleria, the label read. She stared at it for a long moment before gently placing it back on the table. Next she picked up the other vial. She hoped it would work. She knew perfectly well it was a long shot, she just hoped that between this and the fact that he would be completely at her mercy, he might actually open up to her.

She placed the second vial, marked Sodium Pentathol, next the first. Show time.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: I appreciate everyone who has review the story so far. I realize it's very dark & disturbing, but that was the idea so I'm glad people feel I've achieved that. I have written three possible endings for this story. They will be chapters 8, 9 and 10. Please let me know what you think!

Chapter 7

She sat on the edge of his bed and waited for him to wake up. She'd been sitting there for an hour already. It was kind of scary how easy this had been. She'd had the hardest time figuring out how to infect him with the naegleria. It had to be inhaled, and she almost gave up on using it before she was struck by a brilliant idea. She'd remembered a long time ago, just after she'd started working for him; her parents had sent her a floral arrangement at work. The flowers had made him sneeze. It was the gardenias, he said.

So, this morning she had stopped at a florist shop and bought a large bunch of gardenias and brought them to work with her. She had a small bottle of a nasal allergy mist inhaler with her as well. She'd added some of the naegleria and a mild sedative to the inhaler the night before. When he came in, he started sneezing almost immediately. She, being the kindly person she was, offered him her allergy mist. He'd been sniffing on it for about an hour when he came back into the conference room and told the team he wasn't feeling well.

Indeed, the sedative had made him very sleepy and disoriented, especially in combination with his Vicodin. Again, showing her ever-caring nature, she had offered to drive him home instead of letting him take his bike. She had taken him to his apartment, walked in with him and waited while he settled himself into bed. By then, he'd been so disoriented he hadn't even commented that she was in his bedroom. Once he'd fallen nearly to sleep, she injected him with a stronger sedative, one she knew would keep him unconscious for several hours. She had reached into his pocket and removed his bottle of Vicodin. She took the handcuffs from her messenger bag and cuffed his arms and legs to the bed. Then she'd returned to the hospital.

She sat quietly in the conference room with the boys, catching up on overdue paperwork. After a couple of hours, she'd excused herself and gone into House's office for a minute. She came back into the conference room holding his bottle of Vicodin. She looked at the boys; he must have forgotten them here because he wasn't well. Should she bring it to him? She'd gone to Cuddy's office and explained what happened. Cuddy agreed, and off she went for the day to bring House his Vicodin.

Now here she was, sitting on his bed and waiting for the sedative to wear off. He moved, mumbling to himself. After a few minutes, House opened his eyes. Still slightly out of it, he looked around, confused. He tried to get up, but his arms were restrained. Panic began to set in, and now fully awake, he focused on the person sitting on the bed with him.

"Cameron, what the hell do you think you're doing?"


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Okay all, here is ending #1. This is the ending I originally intended when I thought up this crazy story. I got quite a bit of feedback from readers at another site who wanted different endings, and that is where the next two came from. A warning to all, House is dying in this ending. But stay tuned, he does survive in one of them!

Chapter 8

Ending #1

She sat in the back of the church. She could have sat in the front; there was plenty of room. She had thought a world famous doctor, one who had saved so many lives, would have drawn a bigger crowd at his funeral. She was wrong. Apparently, people really did hate him.

His parents were there, of course. His father looked angry. No doubt he was angry with Greg. She called him Greg now, in her head anyway. She knew him so well, and she'd been there right through to the end, she felt like she'd earned that right. She knew that Greg's father had always pushed him to be better. Whatever Greg did, it was never good enough to please his father. He'd told her about how his father had come to his medical school graduation, and never congratulated him on being first in his class. He'd only snarked that he hadn't chosen a more difficult specialty than nephrology. So, Greg had taken an extra residency to specialize in infectious diseases as well. His father had seemed unimpressed.

She supposed now his father was upset because he'd been told his son had committed suicide. He hadn't, of course, but nobody else knew that. She'd been very careful. She had fully intended to cure him, once she'd satisfied her obsession and learned everything she could about him. But the more he told her about himself and his life, she realized that he had closed himself off from people all these years for good reason. He really was miserable, and perhaps no amount of love and friends could ever really heal him. So, she decided to end his suffering for him.

She'd counted on Wilson and Cuddy to want to keep his death out of the papers as much as possible. She knew she could make it look like a suicide very easily, and that both of them would want to save him and his parents any embarrassment. Everyone knew how much he valued his reputation, and she had counted on Cuddy and Wilson wanting to protect that for him, even after he was gone. She'd been right. They'd announced, without an autopsy, that Dr. Gregory House had died of a massive myocardial infarction. Considering the history of his leg, the idea of another blood clot seemed likely.

She closed her eyes as the minister's voice floated through the church. She knew he would hate this. He was an atheist, like her. He didn't believe in God or any of this. But, his mother did, and so here they were. She knew he would have understood that, and that he would never have told him mother no, if she'd been able to ask him.

She felt a tear slip down her cheek and she wiped it away. She didn't want to look weak in front of everyone. She wasn't sure how many more times she could stand it if someone asked her if she was okay. She was better than she'd ever been. She knew him.

She knew everything about him. She knew the names of every teacher he'd ever had. She knew about his first kiss, his first time. She knew he got drunk once when he was ten and fell down the stairs and broke his arm. She knew he liked campfires, but not camping. She knew he loved his piano, but hated the violin.

She knew he loved Stacy and hated her too. She knew he regretted not amputating his leg when Cuddy had told him it was best for him. She knew he and Cuddy had been lovers when Cuddy was in med school. And most importantly, she knew that he had liked her, wanted her even. She knew he was afraid of her a little, because he was afraid of being hurt. He was afraid of more pain.

She knew how much he really loved Wilson. She smiled softly. That might have been the hardest thing to get him to admit. She knew he liked Foreman and even Chase, a little. She wished she could tell them all what he had told her, but it would raise too many questions. Wilson knew, she was sure of that.

She heard a rustling sound and looked up. The service had ended, and people were gathering their belongings, donning jackets and gloves to make their way to the cemetery. He would be laid to rest today. She knew he wouldn't have wanted that either. He'd wanted to be cremated, and have his ashes scattered. Not for some foolish, sentimental reason like becoming part of the earth. Because he didn't like bugs and the thought of his body, even without the essential him in it, lying underground as worm food made him sick.

She nodded to his parents as they passed her. She'd already spoken to them, expressed her condolences. She accepted Wilson's embrace. She'd said her goodbyes to him that morning, before the services had begun. She nodded to Foreman and gave Chase a kiss on the cheek as they left. She shook Cuddy's hand and accepted her wishes of good luck.

She looked around the now empty church. She shrugged into her coat and picked up her purse. She picked up the handle of her carry-on, and wheeled it behind her down the aisle. A cab was waiting to take her to the airport. Her luggage had already been sent. She was moving across the country. She'd accepted a position as associate chief of immunology at a small hospital in Colorado.

Death had been good to her this time. Not like before, when it had taken her husband. That time it had hurt. This time it was different. He had told her, as she had held his hand waiting for the morphine to take effect, that death was whatever you wanted it to be. He wanted it to be the end. The end of pain, the end of disappointment, the end of loneliness. She had leaned down and kissed him then, his last breath tickling her cheek.

Death was whatever you wanted it to be. It had given him a gift; it had ended his suffering. This time, it had been her friend. It had given her a wonderful gift as well, the gift of him.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Here is ending #2. This one is not my favorite, but I still like it enough to include it. House is dying in this one too, sorry. But he will survive the next ending, I promise.

Thanks to all who reviewed, but special thanks to GabbyAbby for probably the nicest review I've ever gotten!!!!

Chapter 9

Ending #2

This wasn't going at all as she had planned. She had thought that once he saw how serious she was, that he would open up and talk to her. He wouldn't. She wasn't sure if he didn't believe her, or if he was really that stubborn. Was he really stubborn enough to die just to spite her?

So she waited until he began to really feel ill from the naegleria, and tried again. He refused to talk at all now. She was getting upset. Why wasn't this working? He couldn't just die, not without telling her about himself. And certainly not without telling her about how he felt while death was coming for him.

She yelled at him, screamed. She argued and cajoled. Finally, she broke down in tears and begged him to talk to her. She poured out her heart and soul to him, telling him how desperate she was to understand him and how badly she needed to understand death. She wailed and pleaded with him.

After hours of crying and imploring him to help her, please, she was spent. She sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers running up and down the chains that bound him. Finally, he began to speak.

He was angry. He was angry that she had done this to him. He was angry that he was going to die. But, it seemed, he was mostly angry that he'd gotten her wrong. He thought she was sweet and innocent. He thought she was pure and good. He'd been wrong, and this was the price he was paying.

She turned to him and smiled. She asked him if he was so angry that he'd gotten her wrong then couldn't he understand why she needed this so badly? He looked at her for a long time after she said that. She told him that they weren't really that different, the two of them. They both had their obsessions. He was lucky that he had Wilson to help keep his obsessions in check. She had no Wilson. Maybe if she had, this wouldn't have become necessary.

He cried a little then. She was surprised, but she supposed one was entitled to cry when one was dying. She asked him questions, and begrudgingly, he answered. When she felt she knew all she could about him, she began to ask him about how he was feeling. How did dying feel?

He looked at her long and hard again. Then he said the most amazing things. He said that death was the end. There wasn't anything else. Death was just the end. He also said that there was no way he could describe to her what it felt like. He became angry again, screaming at her that this wasn't Romeo and Juliet. They weren't star-crossed lovers who were bound to be together in death if they couldn't be together in life. If she wanted to know what dying was like so badly then why was she killing him? Why wasn't she the one strapped to the bed?

When he asked her that, her face took on a strange expression. It was similar to the look she gave when he diagnosed a case that was obvious once the answer was right in front of you. He began to look frightened for the first time as he saw her eyes glaze with thought. He spoke to her, but she didn't hear him.

He was right, she realized. She'd been afraid all this time to just do it, to understand it for herself. But now, she wouldn't have to do it alone. She smiled at him; he had helped her understand. She walked to his bureau and began preparing syringes. He watched her, and hoped that she would be starting the anti-parisitc soon. But as she turned to face him, her expression was not that of a healer. She was a madwoman.

She went to the bed and climbed in beside him. He was wrong that death was the end, she was sure of that. But he was right that the only way to know for sure was to do it herself. She looked at him kindly. There was no need for him to continue to suffer like this. She first tied a tourniquet around his arm, and then tied one around her own. She smiled at him again, ignoring the questions and pleadings coming from him. She found his vein, and brought the syringe to his arm. She whispered a thank you to him as she injected the morphine. Working quickly, she found the vein in her own arm and injected herself as well.

She knew the drugs would act quickly. She placed the syringes and the tourniquets on the bedside table. She settled herself down on the bed next to him and laced her fingers into his. He was unable to fight her, the morphine already beginning to affect him. She closed her eyes and waited.

She could feel her body slipping way from her. No, that wasn't quite right. It was more like a draining. Like how you felt when you sat in the tub and let out the water. It was like you could feel yourself getting heavier and heavier and being drawn towards something at the same time. She waited for the white light, for something, anything, but nothing came.

Her last coherent thought, before death came to take her, was that he had been right again. Death was just the end.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: This is the third ending I wrote for this story. I kind of like this one too, although the original is still my favorite. But House lives in this one!!!! Please review!

Chapter 10

Ending #3

She sat in the solarium, staring out the window in front of her, but not really seeing anything. Today was the 16th, and the nurse had wheeled her into the solarium for his visit. He always visited her on the 16th. That was the day it had happened, and he came to mark that day every month. Fifteen visits a year, on the 16th of every month, on her birthday, on his birthday and at Christmas. She always sat quietly while he talked to her.

She felt his presence when he entered. It was no different now than it had been three years ago when it had happened. She could sense him first, somehow. Then she would hear the familiar step-thump as he limped across the room. Finally, she would smell him, a deep rich scent of aftershave and lingering cigar smoke.

She saw him sitting across from her, but her eyes showed no recognition. She had been catatonic from the day it happened, and although the doctors and nurses knew she was aware of the world around her, she had withdrawn from it. She had never spoken, in all the three years she had been there. She hadn't spoken since it happened, in fact. She didn't feed or clothe or bathe herself. She maintained enough connection to the world to follow a simple instruction like stand up or lift your arms, but that was all.

She sat and listened to his deep, gravelly voice greet her. He called her Allison now. She sat and listened to him tell her stories. He told her stories about himself. Sometimes he told her about the hospital, about Foreman and Chase and Wilson and even Cuddy. Sometimes he told her about the patients when he'd had an especially bizarre case. But mostly, he told her stories about himself.

She heard all about his childhood. About how he'd moved from one place to another as he and his mother had followed his father from one base to another. She heard about how he'd never really learned to make friends, because by the time he got to know the kids in his school, it was time to move. She heard about how he and his father had never gotten along, and about how as much as he loved his mother; he blamed her for sticking with him all those years.

She heard about college, and all the crazy stunts he'd pulled. During one visit, it had been on her birthday, he had told her all about the affair he and Cuddy had when she was in med school and he was the chief resident. She heard about how he'd met Wilson and how they became friends. She heard about Stacy. Slowly, over the last three years, he had told her almost everything about himself.

Today, he was telling her about those first long years after his infarction. He told her all about the pain, and the anger and the loneliness. He told her about how he'd felt when he'd hired her. He told her how pretty she was, and that despite everything he'd ever said to her and all the denials, he'd been a little afraid of her. He'd been afraid because he thought maybe he could love her, if he let himself.

He told her Wilson and Cuddy had found out that he was visiting her. Cuddy thought he was feeling guilty, that maybe he felt like he had driven her to this. Wilson thought he was visiting her because he still felt something. She heard him laugh, and whisper that Wilson wasn't completely wrong.

She listened in silence. Sometimes tears glistened in her eyes, and occasionally the ghost of a smile would cross her face. Today she was expressionless. He told her that he still came to see her because he was hoping one day, that she would talk back to him, and he could ask her why she did it. He wanted to figure her out. He had been so wrong about her, and it bothered him. He could understand an obsession. After all, here he was, three years later, still visiting her looking for an answer.

She felt him stand up and walk beside her wheelchair. She heard him click off the wheel lock and watched the walls go by as he wheeled her back to her room. She sat in front of the TV, where he locked the chair in place, and she stared blankly at it. She heard him say goodbye, and tell her he'd be back next month.

She sat. She waited. She knew him now, but she took no pleasure in it. She took no pleasure in anything anymore. Trapped within her own mind, she did the only thing she could do. She waited to come to terms with her other obsession. She waited for death.


End file.
